On pointed toes, reaching up feels like falling

Here in the little silence

your bones are medicine like methadone

for heroin. And I break,

and wander,

and land solidly in your wake. 

Hoarfrost and keyboard strokes 

look the same when the sun is low. 

I want to be punished 

and glorified. 

And I wonder if this feeling 

will ever betray me;

this feeling, the one that I planted solidly

in my chest. 

There's a part of me 

that wants to know 

what it would be like 

to be the villian. 

Give me a name like terror 

and call me yours. 

In truth, I am a white lie 

that you tell yourself at night

to romanticize the discomfort

that grows inside. 

I wish I knew how to satisfy you. 

I want you to take me

over and over

until the roof of my mouth

is painted with you. 

Until I give in

completely. 

And can fucking breathe again.